


neroli and ash

by haedeluna



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha Zhong Chen Le, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Lee Jeno, Comeplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Hyung kink if you squint, Jeno is a Brat, Knotting, Lingerie, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Lee Jeno, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Spanking, Top Zhong Chen Le, gratuitous use of pottery metaphors, idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haedeluna/pseuds/haedeluna
Summary: But Jeno kind of always does things the wrong way around. Born crooked, two left feet. A heart made to leap all the way to the finish line and work its way backwards.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 22
Kudos: 231





	neroli and ash

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i can't believe i wrote this either. it was born from equal parts pure chorniness and a need to see jeno in pretty lace. enjoy!

When Chenle says to Jeno, “I have a present for you,” and hands him the soft pink box, with _C’est Magnifique_ across the lid in elaborate silver typeface, three things cross Jeno’s mind in rapid succession.

One: Is it a ring? 

That’s quickly thrown out. The box is way too big for just a piece of jewelry, and also, whoa. Jeno does not expect the spike of equal parts anxiety and exhilaration at _that_ thought. 

Like, the answer would be no, of course. Not right now. Not when they’re so young and there’s so many eyes on them, all the time, and definitely not without Jeno’s mom’s blessing. Because Jeno doesn’t make any major life decisions without consulting eomma. 

But also, like. Chenle, his _husband_. Chenle, _his._ Officially, off-the-market, all for Jeno, ‘till death do us part. Chenle’s hand on his back, cold on the ring finger from a metal band. Fuck. 

Regardless. The box isn’t ring-sized. 

Two: Is it either of their birthdays? No. Of course not. It’s October. Listen, Jeno could have forgotten. He’s forgotten worse. It was only a mostly-stupid thought to have. 

And finally, three: Is it their anniversary? Jeno racks his brain for one heart-in-throat moment then realizes, no, not that either. Their anniversary is in July. 

It wasn’t exactly a grand romantic gesture, the day they decided to be proper-noun Boyfriends. The day they could no longer pass off shoving their hands down each other’s waistbands after dance practices for some mitigated physical relief, chest-to-chest, Chenle’s nose pressed into Jeno’s neck, right where his scent is strongest, bringing him to shivering climax but not daring to kiss his mouth. Because having sex with your group member is one thing. But _kissing_ brings messy feelings into involvement, and that’s crossing a hard line. 

And look how they turned out anyway. One year, three months, and still going strong as ever. Jeno thinks back on their naivety fondly. He really has to give it to his past self, for having the balls to think he could hold Zhong Chenle at arm’s length for even a second. 

It’s never been easy for Jeno to navigate his heat cycles. Idol life makes privacy a well-trodden joke of the past. There are discreet channels for that type of thing, of course. But there’s nothing more humiliating than missing a fansign so a stranger can knot in his ass in a seedy hotel room. Especially knowing that stranger signed about a thousand NDAs, specifying exactly what they’re allowed to do to Jeno’s body. You can’t beat company management, honestly. It’s all about as sexy as a prostate exam. 

And it’s almost masochism in a group with four smelly, intoxicating alphas, on top of keeping sweet Jisung, who hasn’t even presented yet, out of the crossfire. For Jeno, walking out of a sweaty dance practice without having popped a boner is a gold-star achievement. 

It started out with Chenle helping Jeno through a particularly intense heat. (Jeno should have known he was a goner, then, when Chenle made him come seven times in one night and had the audacity to go three more rounds the next morning.) Jeno returned the favor for Chenle’s rut a week later. (He _definitely_ should have known then, that their cycles were slowly but surely syncing up.) 

And Jeno woke up one morning in Chenle’s arms and realized he hadn’t slept with anyone else for six whole months, a personal record. Not just when they were on their tri, either. Like _all_ the fucking time. Chenle is insatiable. 

And Jeno is possessive as fuck by nature, to hell with what biology says about subservient little doe-eyed omegas, because when Jeno needs something, he needs it, _now_. The very thought of Chenle spending his rut with an omega that wasn’t him was — well, it made Jeno’s stomach churn with panic. Chenle is _his_. Always has been.

Jeno remembers it in vivid clarity. His palms were still stained tangerine from helping Chenle touch up his hair. The same palms he brought up to cup Chenle’s face, brushing the wet strands from his eyes, when he asked, “Are we dating? Is that what this is?”

Chenle leaned his hip against the bathroom sink. He gave him Jeno’s favorite crinkled-eyes and deep-dimpled smile. 

He said, “Glad you’ve finally caught on.”

And that was their first kiss. Chenle’s hands on his ribs, pushing him into the wall between the towel racks. Chenle’s mouth, warm and tasting like beeswax lip balm and something inherently Chenle, something huge and deep and unshakeable as the world beneath Jeno’s feet. Seismic shifts and bubbling magma and earthquakes that shake to pieces. The warm, earthy-citrus smell of him tugged Jeno under. Chenle picked up Jeno’s fragments and held him carefully to his chest, pulled him into his bed, sunk into Jeno’s heat and broke Jeno apart again, consumed him like Vesuvius in ash and brimstone.

It was ironic, their first kiss. The fact that it happened long after Jeno had already memorized the exact wrist-twist and flick-of-the-tongue that shattered Chenle without hesitation. But Jeno kind of always does things the wrong way around. Born crooked, two left feet. A heart made to leap all the way to the finish line and work its way backwards. 

But after, Chenle looked at Jeno with nothing but awe, like he was something unbroken. Nothing but gold seams in the ceramic belying where Jeno had once been fractured. 

Chenle is looking at him now, but his eyes are completely different. They’ve got an unmistakable sparkle that Jeno knows well and associates, Pavlovian response, with his own exquisite suffering. 

“Should I be scared?” Jeno asks, knowing the answer.

“Of course not,” Chenle breezes. 

He has a hand on Jeno’s thigh, and Jeno isn’t anxious, exactly — but he wouldn’t call himself _chill_. They have the house to themselves, at least until Chenle’s aunt returns in a whirlwind of designer handbags and coiffed hair tomorrow morning. There’s something tense in the air, though, a sharpening to a knife’s edge. A reason why Chenle invited Jeno over today, to an empty house, to a soft-lit bedroom. 

And Chenle is studying Jeno’s face like he has a shortage of it in his memory, and he’s stocking up for winter. 

“What’s this all for?” Jeno shifts on Chenle’s bed, moving back to make room in his lap. He gently lifts off the box’s lid, shaking it a bit to free its static cling. He can’t see what’s inside yet. The contents are shrouded in glimmering pearl tissue paper. 

“It’s just a little something,” Chenle says, too airy. His thumb drawing circles on the inside of Jeno’s thigh stills. 

Jeno meets his eyes, then, and realizes by the little downward turn of his mouth’s corner that Chenle is _nervous_ , for some reason. 

“You’re being weird,” Jeno accuses. “You know, if I hate it, I can just return it. It’s fine. I’ll appreciate the thought, anyway.”

Chenle starts, “I don’t want you to think—,” then clams up. 

Chenle, for all his alpha pride and smart fucking mouth, is not one to get nervous easily. It’s even rarer to see him speechless. Jeno, with more trepidation now, folds back the tissue paper and opens his present. 

The garment reveals itself to Jeno in pieces: the webbing of lavender lace, satin trimming, a few spindly straps edged with the tiniest of ruffles, thicker garters attached with delicate silver clasps. 

They’re — well, the only word coming to Jeno’s mind, to adequately describe the slinky cloth in his hand — they’re panties. 

Jeno looks up from the box to meet Chenle’s gaze again. Who is staring at Jeno with something like anticipation and something darker, simmering, threatening to spill. Jeno wants to nudge it into overflow.

But Chenle’s words are cautious. “Is it — okay? I don’t know if I got the right — size, even — is it weird? I should have asked first —”

“Where did you get this?” Jeno asks, hushed. He lifts it from the box and holds it aloft between his fingers. 

It’s exquisite, honestly, lovingly made, probably one of a kind. Jeno realizes as he lifts it and the second garment falls away that it’s actually two. The panties themselves and the thicker strap connected to the garters are separate pieces. The belt would cling tight around his hips, the garters around his upper thighs. The underwear itself is thinner than cobwebs, fine-spun and sheer. It’s cut entirely from pale purple lace — against Jeno’s body, it would be completely see-through. 

He’s already imagining himself wearing it. And that’s enough to make his breathing go bumpy and irregular. 

“I stumbled across it on this online store.” Chenle is still watching his face, waiting for a crack in Jeno’s sincerity. He won’t be getting one. “You really like it? Honestly?”

And Jeno loves this, loves how carefully Chenle handles his every boundary with gentle hands. That no matter how rough or bruising he might treat Jeno’s body, it’s cut with as much love and attention as the garment in his hands. 

That doesn’t mean Jeno won’t get a tease in or two. “I just don’t know why you bought purple. You know black is my favorite color.” 

The tension fizzles slightly out of Chenle’s shoulders and he laughs. Jeno thinks he might have answered a question beyond what he asked.

“It’s _lavender_ ,” Chenle says with the glint of his usual steel. He ducks in to kiss the corner of Jeno’s mouth. “Brat.” 

Jeno bites back his grin. “I’m kidding.” He lays the garments delicately back into its box, admiring the way the glittering white looks through the lace. _Pretty_. “An online store, huh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I wasn’t — looking, if that’s what you’re asking,” Chenle says carefully. “I saw it, and it made me think of you. I thought you’d look —” A hard inhale through his nose, shaky on the exhale. “I figured I’d surprise you.”

Chenle has been thinking of this for a while, Jeno realizes. Maybe not even consciously. But lingerie isn’t something you pick up on a whim like a new seasonal fruit at the grocery store. 

He’s been thinking about Jeno. About Jeno wearing something like this. For him. 

“You’re absolutely sure?” Chenle asks. “If it’s weird, it’s fine. They do free returns.”

“No, I just. I love it.” And Jeno does, actually. It’s a little out of left field, sure. It’s not something he ever imagined himself wearing, not in a million years. 

But it’s pretty. It made Chenle think of him. That’s enough to make Jeno love it tangentially, by way of Chenle’s affection, the same way he loves basketball and piano and his mandarin-oak smell by proxy, for being parts of what makes Chenle who he is. 

And if he’s honest with himself, he’s growing increasingly curious by the second about how the lace would drag against his skin. 

“I love it. I just,” Jeno says again. And then, smaller, with a chew on his bottom lip, “I just think — I’ll look ridiculous.” 

He can’t imagine the hard lines and angles of his body harmonizing with the soft lace and delicate ruffles of the garments. He’ll probably look like a complete idiot. Then he and Chenle will laugh about it, and they’ll order delivery, and they’ll laugh about it even more over dinner and a drama episode. Chenle will fall asleep tucked up into his chest like a little cat, the way he always does. The lingerie will get buried in Chenle’s closet somewhere. They’ll unearth it in a couple months on accident and laugh about it again. 

It’ll be normal. He doesn’t know why his heart is racketing in his ribs to a kick-drum beat.

But Chenle fixes him with a steady look, dark, hungry, pushing on a boil, now. He still has a hand on Jeno’s thigh. His hand is large enough that it almost circles half of its width. And, fuck, Jeno can _smell_ him, can smell the waves of pheromones coming off of him so strong he can feel it in his marrow, a primal lighthouse beam luring Jeno to shore. 

Chenle says, “I don’t think you’ll look ridiculous.” 

“Should we test that?” 

Chenle goes very still all at once. Orange rind, neroli, burnt wood, ashes to ashes. “I mean.” He swallows. “Knock yourself out.” 

Jeno pretends to weigh his options. “Maybe I should wait til later.” 

Chenle pushes him playfully to standing. His touch lingers on the swell of muscle in Jeno’s upper arm and squeezes once, lightly, before he pulls away. Jeno feels a bit like a plaything for dress-up, or maybe a little bit like Chenle is objectifying him. He’s cool with it, though. He’s really, really cool.

“Go put it on,” Chenle says, not quite an order but edging on one. Jeno’s entire body thrills with it all the same. “I want to see you in it.”

“I’m just warning you now,” Jeno calls from inside the bathroom. “I look like a kid that got into a Victoria’s Secret dressing room.”

Chenle is playing a game on his phone, by the small, electronic noises coming from his bedroom. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

“I’m serious.” Jeno shifts, and the hem of the panties wedges itself firmly in his ass yet again, no matter how many times he pulls it out. How do girls deal with this on a regular basis? Jeno could never. Clearly there is a stronger gender here, and it’s not his own. “You’re going to laugh.”

Jeno can hear the smile on Chenle’s voice when he says, “Come and show me, then.”

Jeno emerges from the bathroom, padding on bare feet into Chenle’s room adjoining. Chenle’s scent envelops him again, warm and sweet, filling the room like a well-placed candle. “Not one word,” Jeno warns. “They don’t really…”

Chenle looks up from his phone and promptly drops it. He sucks in a breath.

Jeno’s words die on his tongue. 

Chenle has never been shy about the way he admires Jeno’s body, even going so far as to bring his love for it onto variety shows and broadcast it for the world to hear. And Jeno knows from the way Chenle’s fingertips trace the pattern of muscles on his abdomen, the way he digs his fingers into Jeno’s thighs when he’s fucking into him, the way he mouths Jeno’s collarbone like he has something to prove and his teeth are the argument — well. Chenle doesn’t need to say it, at all. Jeno would have to be stupid not to know. He doesn’t hit the gym six times a week for nothing.

And Chenle is looking at him now with such single-minded intensity, that Jeno’s knees are not so much weak as they have forgotten their purpose entirely.

Jeno’s chest is bare, and the underwear is maybe half a size too small. Not enough to be uncomfortable. Just enough that the strap around his waist digs in slightly, the garters circling his upper thighs squeezing a hair too tight for rapid motion. 

The panties themselves are the most perfunctory of underwear-like things, barely enough fabric to quantify. They’re slightly small, too, so that his cock is flush and trapped against his hipbone in a way that’s not at all unpleasant. His balls are spilling out of the sides, unsurprisingly — it’s not a garment designed for Jeno’s anatomy, after all. The lacy waistband flirts with the dark trail of hair under his navel that disappears into it. The ruffled hem on the back, cut high, only cups maybe a quarter of his ass. 

Jeno feels exposed and kind of silly and a tiny bit embarrassed. Like he’s broken some unspoken rule of manhood. He’s not questioning his masculinity by any means — far from it. But he does feel a bit like the omegas in the pornos, with their teary eyes and simpers and lacy nightgowns. He feels _dirty_. 

But from the way Chenle’s throat is working and he’s fisting the bedsheets, two hands, white knuckles — Jeno doesn’t think he minds. 

Jeno’s also leaking, he realizes. Which is neither here nor there, but it’s certainly. Something. 

“Fit,” Jeno says roughly. “They don’t really fit.”

“Jeno.” Chenle sounds like he’s in pain. “Oh my _God_.”

Chenle’s scent almost knocks him over, then, so strong, Jeno could be standing in the middle of a grove of orange trees and a forest fire, all at once. It’s coaxing his own scent to the surface, too, he can feel it. His chemical cloak doesn’t stand a chance in hell. 

“Do you — you like it, then?” Jeno knows he does. He can smell his arousal, even if he couldn’t see the way Chenle’s eyes roam over his half-hard cock, his thighs, his waist, before snapping back up to his face, distracted. But Jeno wants to hear him say it. “Hey. My eyes are up here.” 

Chenle swallows a grin. He at least has the shame to go pink around the ears. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jeno fingers the band of the left garter, fidgety. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” Chenle laughs, edging on hysteria. “Did you look at yourself in the mirror? Do you know how you look right now.” It’s not a question. Jeno can read the context clues. 

Chenle’s scent bowls over him again, punching the breath out of Jeno’s lungs, and he shifts his hips forward ever so slightly on the bed. Jeno thinks it might be deliberate. Because he can see through Chenle’s ratty sweatpants that he’s _hard_ , huge and thick, and the overwhelming scent of him and the tent in his pants and the humid press of his pheromones all add up, then Jeno thinks, _Oh_ , and his answering rush of wetness in his panties is enough to —

“Chenle,” Jeno says, his voice breaking. “Did you just—?” 

“Yeah.” Chenle dry-swallows. “I sure as hell did.” 

Jeno laughs and it’s more like a wheeze. “You’re not even near your tri.”

“I was due in five days, anyway,” Chenle says, sulky. 

Jeno rolls his eyes. “Okay, all right. Touchy.”

“In my defense,” Chenle says, eyes darkening again, “you look so fucking hot right now, any alpha in their right mind would go feral if they saw you.” 

“Huh.” Jeno trails his fingers under his navel, looking down at himself. He skates one palm over his lace-covered cock, pausing to give himself a small squeeze. He’s pleased to hear the way Chenle’s breath hitches in response. Jeno studies the garter belt biting into his waist, the way his dark patch of hair between his thighs looks under pretty purple lace. “I do look good, don’t I?” 

“Cocky. I can’t stand you.” Chenle is grinning when he holds out his arms. “Get over here.” 

Jeno is across the room in moments — it takes his every bit of willpower not to run — and nudges into Chenle’s space, slots between his thighs that fall open in invitation. The magnetic draw of Chenle’s body is all the more intense, the closer he gets. 

He manages, “I’m feeling pretty great right now, after literally pushing my boyfriend into rut from how hot I look, so I have a right to be cocky.” 

Chenle isn’t listening. He finally gets his hands on Jeno, palms pressing flat against his abdomen, and the second his fingers make contact, he full-body _shudders_. Jeno gets hit with another wave of orange-and-embers scent, and it takes everything in him not to slump boneless into Chenle’s arms. He’s already aching hard and so wet the lingerie is starting to cling. 

Chenle tilts his chin to look up at him. His eyes are blown back and bottomless. He wets his full mouth with the tip of his tongue, and Jeno watches the glistening trail it leaves behind. Chenle’s instincts must be screaming at him now, to _take_ , _claim_ , _breed_. 

So Jeno gets why it’s with gritted-teeth effort when he asks, “Are you sure — this is okay? I know you didn’t have time to — prepare or anything.”

Jeno is a little awed, as he always is, at Chenle’s remarkable self-restraint, his careful consideration of Jeno’s boundaries when his every base urge is willing him to fuck and ask questions later. 

Staring down at him, trying to remember how his lungs work, Jeno thinks he might know what the people in Pompeii felt like when they saw the ash clouds descending. 

“Well,” Jeno says. “When in Rome, right?”

Chenle gasps a laugh. “I’m —” His hands are shaking when they circle Jeno’s waist. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathes a deep lungful. He flinches, his hips jerking momentarily forward on the mattress, like he’s cutting off an involuntary motion before completion. 

It might be the most overwhelmed Jeno has ever seen him.

Chenle cracks his eyes open to look up at Jeno, plaintive. “If I let myself go — baby, you have no idea.” 

Jeno leans down and grips him by the nape. 

“Come on. Do you really like it?” Jeno says, slow and deep, close to Chenle’s ear the way he loves to hear it. He’s rewarded with a sinful noise from deep in Chenle’s throat. He knows how Chenle gets off on it, on how warm and rumbling Jeno’s voice gets when he’s aroused. “Do you like seeing me in the panties you bought me?”

Chenle _growls_. It awakens something molten and primal in Jeno’s body. Something he knows calls out to Chenle in turn. 

He presses it to his full advantage now. He gets right up against the shell of Chenle’s ear and says, “Show me how much you like it, then, _alpha_.”

It’s all the confirmation Chenle needs, and then some.

The world is kicked out from under Jeno and he goes sideways. His back hits the bed before he registers the fall. 

Chenle is on him in an instant. He presses him into the mattress, hands pinning his wrists. Jeno can feel Chenle’s cock, full and hard, digging into his hip bone. He’s almost as long as the width of Jeno’s thigh, a realization that Jeno has had a thousand times before but it still makes him dizzy with want. Every point of contact on his body against Chenle’s zings like a livewire. 

Then Chenle nudges one thigh between Jeno’s and presses down. He moves, and — 

“Fuck.” Jeno arches off the mattress with a groan. He gets it now. Jeno understands why underwear meant to seduce is made from such fabric, because the soft drag of it against his cockhead is fucking _luxurious_. Jeno wants to scream.

Chenle pauses to rip off his own shirt. His skin is like buttercream in the lamplight, all soft limbs and rumpled dark hair. Then he grips both of Jeno’s thighs and brings them up to wrap around his leg. He grinds down his thigh in earnest. 

Jeno opens his hips as wide as he can and holds on for dear life as Chenle ruts his thigh into Jeno’s cock. The pressure is incredible, the soft scratch of the lace on his erection mind-numbingly good. He’s also _sopping_ wet. It makes the slide all the easier. The underwear is soaked through, and Chenle hasgot to feel it leaking into his sweatpants, and Jeno is going to melt into the bedsheets from his embarrassment at how much he likes that idea. 

Chenle presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss under Jeno’s jaw. His scent point. And frankly, Jeno thinks Chenle’s teeth were made for biting. Because he digs their catlike points into Jeno’s throat, sharp enough that Jeno makes an involuntary noise, and he _feels_ the moment his slick bubbles out of him in a warm spurt. 

“Come out,” Chenle says into his neck, with another bite, “let me smell you.” 

“I’m on a chem cloak, baby,” Jeno pants, his cheek turned into a pillow. “Gonna have to do better than that.” 

“Yeah?” He can’t see Chenle’s face but he can feel his smile into Jeno’s neck. His breath is hot and ragged on Jeno’s skin. “You desperate for it, hyung?”

Jeno squirms underneath him, impatient, refusing to answer. The _hyung_ that Chenle sprinkles into his taunts turns him on more than he’d care to admit, a weakness Chenle is too eager to exploit. Chenle’s thigh between his legs is so much pressure, trapping the lace between him and Jeno’s dick. When it shifts, it catches on the spot underneath his head, right where he’s sensitive, and he clamps down on a curse. 

And maybe it’s a mistake to bait an alpha in rut. But it’s sure as hell never stopped him before. He lets his voice drop low and throaty again and says into Chenle’s ear, “Work harder. Aren’t you supposed to be an alpha?” 

Chenle curses. That earns Jeno the hardest bite yet. He keens into it, and his scent finally unfurling is like a physical weight lifting off his skin. Jeno knows the moment Chenle smells it. He goes rigid on top of Jeno, and his cock jumps from where it’s heavy inside his sweatpants. 

“There he is,” Chenle says, with a small, satisfied shudder of pleasure. “Good boy.” 

Jeno _melts_. “Again. Say it again,” then, tinging on desperate, with a cant of his hips into Chenle’s thigh, “please.”

Chenle stills his steady rhythm against Jeno. He licks up the shell of Jeno’s ear, nibbles at the lobe. “No,” he says. The mocking is not at all subtle. “You have to earn it, baby boy. Prove you deserve it.” 

And fuck, if that isn’t enough to make the omega inside Jeno writhe with the need to please. To go weak and submissive and let Chenle take him like an animal. 

He also knows that Chenle doesn’t want him to just give in. He wants to _claim_ him, wants Jeno to throw everything he has against him and still break in the end. To draw the breathless want out of Jeno until he’s begging for it, tooth and nail.

Jeno ignores both warring desires for now, with difficulty. He’s not so easily won. “I’m not the one who went into rut from how fucking hot my boyfriend looks in lace. If anyone’s desperate, it’s you.” 

As if in retaliation, Chenle pulls away suddenly to look him full in the face. He grabs Jeno by the chin roughly, not enough to hurt. Just enough for Jeno’s nerve endings to pop and crackle with kinetic energy, the potential of what Chenle _could_ do, if he wanted. How he could overpower Jeno on a whim. How he could ravage Jeno a thousand different ways, a million times over. 

How Jeno would let him. 

“If you don’t stop mouthing off,” Chenle says, in a voice that makes Jeno’s toes curl, “I’m not giving you my knot at all.”

There it is — an ultimatum. Even the word _knot_ makes Jeno want to throw his resolve to the wind and plead for it. 

He winds his fingers into Chenle’s hair at the base of his neck. “I’m not going to beg.” 

Even to Jeno’s ears it sounds weak. They both know the message seething under his words, disguised under layers of entirely too much fucking pride: _Make me_. 

Chenle’s gaze darts down to Jeno’s cock, drooling and pinned tight against his body in the lacy panties. His eyes are wild.

“See something you—?” Jeno starts. It’s cut off with a whimper when Chenle crawls down his body, dips and presses his mouth to Jeno’s cock through the lace. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Jeno squeaks, a prayer of supplication that will go unanswered. Chenle’s mouth, hot and wet and searching, soaks through the lace and drags against Jeno’s cock. 

The panties don’t let Chenle get his mouth fully around Jeno’s shaft. It doesn’t lessen the intensity of Chenle’s single-minded focus on something he’s incredible at doing. And it sure as hell doesn’t make Jeno any quieter, his pleasure spilling out of him in breathless, wrecked noises. He’s as wet under Chenle’s mouth as he is around his rim. Chenle rubs his lips against Jeno’s head and something shorts out in Jeno’s vision.

Chenle looks up and meets Jeno’s eyes from between his legs, eyes black, mouth red, sharp cheekbones hollowing out as he sucks at Jeno’s head through the lace. Jeno pulls him off by the hair with a gasp before he comes right there. Chenle goes without complaint. 

“How about now, hyung?” he says, grinning. He pushes his sweaty bangs off his forehead, all insufferable alpha cockiness. “You wanna take my knot?”

 _Yes, yes, yes, now, right now_ , the omega in Jeno pulses through him in tandem with his pounding heart. But Jeno himself must have a death wish. Because instead, he rasps, “I don’t know. Think I still need some convincing.” 

Chenle laughs, all sharp teeth. “Your funeral.” 

His fingers dig into Jeno’s waist and he flips him over, like he weighs nothing. Something about that sparks an embarrassing little kernel of heat in Jeno — my boyfriend is so _strong_ , it says, in a sickly, hormonal teenager voice, my alpha boyfriend is so _strong_ and makes me feel so _small_ with his big _hands_ — but it’s swept away when Chenle bunches Jeno’s panties in his fist and pulls up. Jeno feels his ass, now fully exposed, dimple with goosebumps.

Then the capacity for language deserts Jeno, when Chenle nudges the lacy underwear hem aside and circles his rim with one finger. Excitement shoots up Jeno’s spine. He takes a hard, shuddering gasp, feels his nipples peak against the bedsheets. 

Chenle slides one finger inside him, far too easy, and groans. “God, it’s like you’re in heat,” he says and adds a second. “So fucking wet for me already.”

Jeno’s hip buck off the mattress when he cries out for real. 

“Sorry,” Chenle says suddenly, drawing his fingers out, “I didn’t even ask, is this okay—”

“ _Yes_.” Jeno reaches back to snag Chenle’s wrist from pulling away. He gathers what sanity he has left and drops his voice low and growling, and says, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.” 

The appreciative, “Goddamn,” and wave of mandarin-forest smell makes Jeno smile into the bedsheets, where his face is pressed. 

Chenle slides into him again. Jeno doesn’t even feel the burn of intrusion. Only white-hot arousal, centered on the slick drag of Chenle’s fingers fucking a steady rhythm into him. It’s all the easier from the slick that Jeno is weeping, frothing at his rim with every push of Chenle’s fingers.

“That’s it, hyung,” Chenle says, gentle, at odds with the powerful drives that has Jeno’s eyes burning with tears already. “Take my fingers so fucking well.” 

Jeno can only moan in response. Chenle pauses his motion to scissors his fingers inside Jeno, torturous, before finally, finally adding a third, and it hits the bundle of nerves inside him that sets every inch of Jeno on fire, and Jeno is so close to coming he could —

Chenle pulls out of him without warning. Jeno makes a pathetic noise in displeasure, at the too-empty feel of him without Chenle. It’s just fucking like him, to deny Jeno at the very last second, to dance away in tease right before he gives Jeno what he wants.

“Hush,” Chenle chides. With his knees on the bedspread, he nudges Jeno’s legs apart. Jeno doesn’t think. He opens his hips and props himself up on his knees, angles his ass into the air, any remaining vestiges of shame long abandoned. 

“Look at you,” Chenle coos, pleased. He palms one of Jeno’s ass cheeks, digging his fingernails into sharp crescents of pain. “So eager for it. You gonna take my knot like a good boy?” 

He pairs his words with a stinging slap across his ass. Jeno sobs, beyond the capacity for coherent thought, for anything beyond the mantra in his blood, over and over, _now, now, now_. 

“You love this, don’t you.” Chenle massages the wet, puckered flesh around Jeno’s hole with one thumb, not enough for any kind of relief, only to make Jeno’s whole body rack with a shudder. Another hard slap on his ass. “You need it like this. Need me to tease you ‘till you’re a whiny little mess, huh? Go ahead, then. Beg for it.” 

Instinct is a funny thing. It demands to be sated. Even though Jeno’s face is burning with humiliation, it only makes his cock ache harder, the desperate animal of his body dying to submit. Jeno can’t keep up this fight. Because Chenle was brave enough to buy this lingerie for him, to reveal a side of him Jeno didn’t know he had, asked him to wear it. Chenle dragged the desire out of Jeno, exactly the way Jeno wanted him to. The way he needed it. 

So Jeno is going to give everything to him. 

“Yes,” Jeno gasps. Chenle dips the pad of his thumb in, a whisper of what’s to come, and Jeno cries out. “Chenle, fuck, please knot me. Please.”

Chenle is smug and victorious when he says, “Now, that wasn’t so hard.”

There’s the rustle of fabric, and Jeno rolls himself over to see Chenle tugging down his sweatpants. Jeno pushes his hands away and does it himself, peels them down. Chenle’s cock, turgid and huge, bobs between his legs, nestled in a dark patch of hair. If Jeno doesn’t have it buried inside him in the next minute, he might lose his fucking mind. 

“No underwear, huh?” Jeno croaks, somehow finding language again. He swallows from where his mouth has instinctively begun to water. “You knew this would happen?”

“Maybe.” Chenle has the shame to look vaguely guilty. But he settles on top of Jeno and gives him that wonderful crinkly-dimple smile and says, “But — I’d hoped.”

And Jeno should definitely be used to it by now, but his heart does some embarrassing gymnastics all the same, that Chenle surely feels from the way their chests are connected. 

“Cute,” Chenle murmurs. He pulls Jeno into a kiss, their first kiss of the night. Ironic, as always, that they always leap five steps ahead, tortoise and the hare. Jeno loses himself for a moment in it, in his campfire and citrus and beeswax, all Chenle, all his. 

But their biology demands to be satiated. The kiss turns sloppy fast, Jeno licking across Chenle’s top lip, up his chin — “You’re _gross_ ,” Chenle says in a way that makes Jeno flush from the crown of his head to his toes — and Jeno, in a wild, desperate need to make Chenle feel as good as he makes Jeno feel, to please him, he curls his fingers around Chenle’s cock. He pumps once, twice, and Chenle knocks his hand away with a groan. 

“Too close, baby,” he says, breath hot against Jeno’s mouth. “Gonna cum before I can give it to you. How do you—”

Jeno cuts him off with a sloppy, off-center kiss, only catching half his mouth. “Like this, please, like this, I wanna see you—”

Chenle’s hands are shaking as he pushes Jeno’s knees apart. He nudges aside the lacy underwear hem, still clinging to Jeno where it’s been soaked completely with his own slick and Chenle’s spit. 

But Chenle’s movements are sure, and his eyes don’t waver from Jeno’s face, when he pushes his cock inside of him with a groan. 

Jeno covers his own mouth with two hands to keep from crying out. He’s so tight clenching instinctively around Chenle’s cock, it’s almost unbearable. It shouldn’t be this _good_. It’s impossible how fucking _perfect_ it feels every time Chenle buries himself inside Jeno to the hilt, how Chenle fills him in a way that’s both physical and mental, primal, all the way to Jeno’s bones. Even as he’s adjusting to his girth — fuck, like his guts are rearranging, making _room_ for him — that mantra is back like a firebrand: _more, more, more, now._

Maybe another night they would take their time, luxuriate in the way their bodies slot together. Frankly, Jeno doesn’t have a single fuck left to give. 

“Move,” he says, voice wrecked, “Chenle, _move_ , come on—”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Chenle drags almost all the way out of Jeno, only the tip still inside, then slams up into him with a wet squelch. Jeno’s eyes roll back into his head. He lets his legs fall open even wider, his limbs going weak, as Chenle begins to fuck him in earnest. 

There’s nothing gentle in the friction of their bodies, slick with sweat. No time wasted in the bruising pace Chenle fucks himself into Jeno. Chenle is so _thick_ , Jeno thinks he’s pulling him apart, every thrust into him coiled tight with need. 

Surely Chenle’s hands are leaving scorch marks across Jeno’s shoulders, down his chest, rubbing his nipples, palming Jeno’s cock through the lace. Jeno is in no more control over his body’s reactions, bucking his hips and writhing under Chenle, than he is over his own mouth. He can hear himself as if from another room, spilling pathetic, broken noises. 

Chenle’s hips bear down _hard_. The pressure is all the more intense from the panties’ lace scraping Jeno’s oversensitive cock, and Jeno sobs without words. Jeno can’t remember the last time he was this hard, this wet, this much of a mess. Then Chenle pins his wrist again by his ears. It slashes through Jeno in lust so intense it’s almost painful, a rightness — held down, dominated, stuffed with Chenle’s cock and _taken_. 

“Knew you’d look so fucking pretty in them,” Chenle gasps into Jeno’s neck, “knew you’d love it, Jeno, God, you look so fucking _pretty_ , can’t believe I get to fuck you like this —”

One of the garters snaps at some point, between Chenle pushing Jeno’s knees into the bedspread so he’s spread wide enough his muscles burn, or maybe when Jeno lifts his hips off the bed to rut down into Chenle’s thrusts, in unadulterated need to come. He can’t be sure. The ash cloud is descending over his eyes. He’s more feral creature than human at this point, the caged animal under his skin clawing to surface, everything in a screaming, molten haze.

“So good, baby, such a good boy.” Chenle’s voice is all choking air, thick with smoke. “Take my fat knot so fucking well. Go ahead, baby, soak these fucking panties for me—” 

“Oh, _God_ ,” Jeno wails. When he comes, it’s like pottery in a kiln that hasn’t been dried, a little bit then all at once — a hiss, a crack, and then the shatter. Jeno crests and crests and fractures, falls apart with Chenle’s name on his tongue, coming hot and sticky in the panties, staining them dark. One last, sputtering wave of slick gushes out of him, around Chenle’s cock. 

Chenle isn’t far behind. Jeno can tell by the fullness beginning to catch at his rim. He’s too wet for it to even deter the hard smack of Chenle’s flesh into his, pushing Jeno impossibly wider and wider. 

“Please,” Jeno says, hoarse, “Chenle, breed me, fucking knot me, baby, I need you to.”

For having such a loud mouth, it’s funny how Chenle always goes utterly silent when he comes. His mouth falls open, slack. His hips jerk, erratic, once, twice, and the snap. Chenle slams his knot into Jeno, so rough Jeno’s vision goes black for a second with lust and pain, and then he’s spilling, gorging Jeno full, mixing with the truly obscene amount of slick inside him already, hot and sopping and filthy. 

And he doesn’t stop. He comes and comes in twitches of his hips and wordless grunts for what feels like hours, pumping Jeno so full he starts to leak around his rim. Chenle presses his fingers on either side of Jeno’s hole around his cock to keep it in. To breed him, the way Jeno begged for. 

Every inch of Jeno’s body is exhausted and satiated on a bone-marrow level. But the second Chenle goes slack on top of him, Jeno drags him down to his chest. He wraps his arms around Chenle, twines his fingers in his hair, both of them gasping, their hips stilling in motion little by little to nothing, and when Chenle’s mouth meets his, they’re both smiling into it. Tortoise and the hare, maybe. But they always meet right in the middle. There’s no place Jeno would rather be than here, listening to the rabbit-thump-beat of Chenle’s heart thudding against Jeno’s rib cage, held tight in Chenle’s arms. All for him. 

“Mine,” Jeno says, frayed around the edges. He kisses Chenle’s brow, not minding the sweat there. “You’re all mine.” 

“Took the words right out of m’mouth,” Chenle slurs. 

They’re quiet for a long while, the soft animals of their bodies in no rush to disturb the peace. Chenle loosens slowly where their bodies are still connected. The lingerie has dried crusty and stiff on Jeno, but he barely feels the discomfort. 

“You’re too easy when you’re in rut,” Jeno says finally. It’s like sandpaper with how dry his throat is. “All I need to say is the word _breed_ and it’s like—” Jeno makes an explosion sound, curls his fingers into a mushroom cloud. “Insta-nut.”

“Oh really? You wanna go there?” Chenle cracks one eye open from where he’s laying on Jeno’s collarbone. “I seem to remember someone coming as soon as I got my cock inside him for the first time. Ring any bells?”

Jeno wrinkles his nose, considers for a moment, then says, “Nah.”

“Nah? What do you mean, nah?”

“Must have been another one of your loose holes,” Jeno says, and it startles a laugh out of Chenle so loud he nudges hard inside Jeno, where they’re both pulsing and sensitive, and in turn they both bite back moans, which just sets off their laughter even harder. Jeno shuts him up with his mouth. 

After a few minutes of lazy kisses, when he’s eased in size enough for comfort inside Jeno, Chenle draws back and says, “You ready?”

Jeno flashes hot for a moment in anticipation. Chenle slides out of Jeno, taking his time, watching Jeno’s face, who always tries to act like it doesn’t feel almost as delicious as the knotting itself and fails miserably. Chenle unhooks the garter belt with care, shucks off Jeno’s thoroughly-ruined panties and tosses them to the floor. “I think those are done for.”

Then, as Chenle supports his back, Jeno leans up into a sitting position, and Chenle’s cum and his own vulgar amount of slick streams out of him, viscous, onto the bed sheets. Jeno whimpers into the heel of his palm, the muscles of his stomach fluttering as it torrents out of him. 

“Made a mess, baby,” Chenle coos. “That gets you so fucking hot, every time.” 

Chenle reaches over and swipes his thumb across Jeno’s hole, still watching Jeno’s face. Jeno’s rim flutters, already eager to accept the intrusion again. Chenle sucks the wetness off his thumb, pulls it out of his mouth with an obscene pop. 

“You’re fucking foul,” Jeno says, dying a thousand times over. But when Chenle scoops more from him and offers his thumb, Jeno accepts it into the seam of his mouth with a shiver. He can’t taste himself beyond the salt of his cum, the same way he can’t smell his own pheromone-heat scent. But Chenle on his finger tastes like orange rind and rosemary. 

“You don’t like it?” Chenle says, blinking innocently. He leans into him and rubs a hand across Jeno’s lower belly. 

“Stop it,” Jeno warns. 

Chenle says against Jeno’s ear, in a breathy, whiny porno voice, “You don’t like being bred like a good little omega? You don’t like being stuffed with my cu—”

Jeno singes so hot he thinks he’s internally combusted. “Ew, ew, ew, get _off_ ,” he yelps, shoving him away, Chenle shrieking with laughter. 

In revenge, Jeno pushes him down into the pillows again and kisses wet, disgusting smacks on his cheek, his nose, his temple, his dimples, until Chenle is thoroughly mussed and pink and pleased.

“Something’s wrong with you,” Chenle says. “No one should be this energetic after getting railed. What the fuck.” 

“That’s because I exercise, and you’re master level on KartRider or whatever.”

“Excuse me, my talent won us PUBG gold and brought honor to our clan, and also, the hyungs told me I looked cool. So.”

Jeno reaches out and touches the corner of Chenle’s mouth, one thumb. 

“I love you,” he says suddenly. It’s true — it’s always been true — but in this moment it feels like the only fact he’s ever known, swirling to a point, that the need to say it is as inescapable as his own stupid, backwards biology. Jeno loves him. It’s the only thing he knows how to do.

Chenle grabs his hand, presses a kiss to the back of Jeno’s palm. “You’re such a sap,” he murmurs, tender. “Love you more.”

“Literally impossible.” Jeno settles onto his back, and Chenle nudges him aside to grab towels from the bathroom, returning to clean both of them off. Then Chenle curls into his chest like a little cat, buries his cold toes under Jeno’s calf. The way he always does. 

Jeno yawns. He needs a boiling-hot shower, but there’s no point in a thorough clean-up, not until Chenle’s rut abates in a few hours. For now, it can wait. If their last hour together is any indication, he’ll definitely need a coffee to last the rest of the night. “How much longer do you think we have ‘till your next wave?”

“An hour or so, probably. Maybe two.” Chenle noses into Jeno’s neck, breathes in deep. “Wanna order takeout? I’m craving Italian.”

**Author's Note:**

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